


Angst- a series by a depressed bitch

by just_a_huge_nerd



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: (im a pessimist dont judge), Author Is Sleep Deprived, Cutting, Depressed Peter Parker, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Hurt Peter Parker, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I take requests, I'm Sorry, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter Doesn't Get A Hug, Peter Parker Has Issues, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Please be safe, Self-Harm, Sorry again, Suicidal Peter Parker, Suicidal Thoughts, This Is Sad, Trigger Warning!, and she doesnt believe in happy endings, i wrote this instead of sleeping while listening to Nirvana (wow), no beta we die like men, sorry - Freeform, vent fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24624106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_a_huge_nerd/pseuds/just_a_huge_nerd
Summary: basically just angsty one-shots with absolutely no plot, or revelance that no one asked forwarnings in tags!! Please be safe yallI will take prompts for anything marvel or Harry Potter, so hit me up :) I'm always bored
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 8
Kudos: 144





	1. Chapter 1

THE CAPHALIC

Fuck

He had left his blade at the apartment. It was the second Friday of the month, which meant that Peter was spending the weekend at the compound with Mr Stark.

Fuckity fuck shit

Maybe he could get Happy to go back to Mays’ and say…. God, what would he even say? “Hi there Happy, I’m an emotionally unstable teenager who left his one coping mechanism behind. All good if we swing around and get it?”

Yeah. Right.

Well, he may as well try, right?

When sixth period ended, Peter was a nervous wreck. On one hand, he didn’t even know if he could cut at the compound- would FRIDAY rat him out? Would Happy even buy his story?

He opened the back door to the shiny black Sudan and climbed in, plastering on a smile. 

“Hey, Happy! How are you?” Peter asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine kid, just fine.” Was all Happy replied with, as usual.

“Ummm, look Happy, I forgot my math textbook and left it at home this morning, would you mind swinging back around Mays’ so I can grab it?” Peter was actively trying not to sound nervous.

“I don’t know kid, thats all the way on the other side of town. Can’t you get all that online now days anyway?” His tone was casual, but Happy was slightly suspicious. 

“Yeah, yeah all good.” Deciding to drop that matter and pretend like it isn’t important, Peter closed his eyes and listen to music for the rest of the trip.

When they finally pulled up at the compound, Peter was more than happy to escape the silence of the car.  
He was itching, squirming to cut. He needed the rush, the adrenalin, the relief. But, he was an absolute idiot who forgot the most important thing that he owned.

Oh well, it was only two days, how hard could it be?

Very hard, apparently. Even walking from the front entrance of the compound to Mr Starks lab was making his so anxious and self-conscious, he felt like an exposed nerve. 

Suddenly, he was in the lab and Mr Stark was talking to him.

“-ter? Kid? Pete? You in there?” Mr Stark was standing right in front of him, and he hadn’t responded! Oh my god, that’s so embarrassing, he was just staring off into space and completely ignoring Mr Stark. Oh god. 

“Hi Mr Stark! How are you?” Peter was trying desperately to salvage some normalcy in their interaction.

Tony gave him a weird look, not really buying the front that Peter was putting on, but still played along. “I’m good, I’m good kid. You?”

“Never better”, Peter lied. His hands were shaking and he felt panicky. This always happened when he didn’t have a blade on him. Every second of every day he longed for that sensation- so beautiful and euphoric that no words could possibly describe the relief and joy that it brings him. “I’m just going to go drop my stuff in my room okay?”

Tony nodded, refocussing on the repulser that he had been working on before Peter arrived. The kid and his weird mood still tapped away at the back of his mind, but he dismissed it as Teen Angst™ 

Meanwhile…

Peter was pacing in his room, trying to think of anything, absolutely anything sharp that he could use to satisfy his sickening urges. Kitchen knives? No, someone would surely see him take them. Throwing knives from the training room? No, for the same reason. Pencil sharpener? Oh, wait he doesn’t own one because ned threw it out weeks ago. 

Then, the perfect plan. Thor- the most clueless avenger + shaving (not actually, duh). He would ask Thor, THE God of thunder if he had any face razors and him, being from another planet and not understanding that Peter doesn’t need to shave yet will give him one! Boom. Smort. 

\------------------------------------------------i watch too much b99----------------------------------------------

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh

Much better.

Nothing could ever compare to the feeling of the first cut of the day. Relief and release and bliss- tiny bubbles of red to streaks running down his pale arms, every stage was euphoria.  
God, Peter had been having a fucking time lately. He was slipping- he knew it. He had started restricting and disassociating without even noticing, subconsciously counting calories and timing patrols and workouts.

He had promised- never again. But, life was just oo much sometimes, ya know? And the blade bought a very well deserved break from the life that was Peter Parkers’.

He looked down. Three lines. Neat, and deep enough to drip down, splattering quietly in the basin. 

It wasn’t enough.

He killed Ben.

Cut.

He let his parents die.

Cut.

He killed everyone in his life.

Cut.

He was failing history.

Cut.

And legal studies.

Cut.

And-

Shit. 

Fucckkkk.

Peters’ brain froze- completely stuck. 

So much blood.

It was on the floor, the basin, the /mirror/.

How had this happened?

God, he didn’t want to have to explain to Mr Stark how he managed to get blood all over his expensive, Italian (probably) tiles. 

Honestly, he didn’t really want to be alive at the moment. 

Life was so hard. School, spider-man, trying to be a good nephew, a good mentee, a good friend, a good student, it was too much.

Maybe it would just be easier to end it here.

He tried to wash the blood off his arm to he could examine the damage. His eyes found the main vein in his arm. /The cephalic?/part of Peter’s brain wondered.

He pushed memories of freshman health class out of his mind- he needed to concentrate. If he didn’t do this right, there would be hell to pay.

Slowly, he dragged the blade from the top of his wrist, over years of scars, down to the crook of his elbow. 

And fuck, did it hurt. More than usual- he’d never gone this deep before- and jesus, was it bleeding like hell.

Good, Peter thought. He didn’t want to fuck this up, just like everything else in his life. 

He repeated the action on the other arm, slightly more clumsily because of the blood loss and the fact that he was not left-handed.

He sat back, leaning against the wall and examining his work. Surely this would do it.

Then Peter thought of Tony- he didn’t say goodbye. Peter was actually pretty sure that last thing he had said to the man was “fuck off” or something as he stormed out of the lab.

He couldn’t have that. 

“Hey FRIDAY, could you record a voice message for mister Stark for me?” God, he sounded dead already.

“Thanks, FRI… Hey Mister Stark. I just wanted to say goodbye, because I feel bad, ya know? You were always there for me, and you deserve a goodbye.

I’m sorry that I wasn’t enough. I’m sorry that I let you down, I know you wanted me to be better than you-” Before laughed, and then coughed- “as if that could happen.”

What else was he meant to say?

“I know that you’re going to blame yourself, but you shouldn’t. I’m really happy Mister Stark. I’m really happy, Tony. I’m going to see my parents. I’m gonna go see Ben now.

Take care you yourself, Tony.”

And then there was black.


	2. Chapter 2

It got to the point where cutting didn’t even help anymore.

The fragile piece of sharp metal no longer bought him joy or any emotion at all.

It slid across his skin, same as always, but the release- the bliss didn’t follow.

There was too much paint on the canvas, not enough room for new pictures. His favourite place to cut was full of old scars and half-healed cuts. 

What was next? Thighs? Would that bring the bliss back?

Stomach? Would that bring the emotional release that he craved every second of every day?

Or maybe he’ll go old school and go with his hips, jagged cuts on sharp hip bones covered by his underwear and a fake smile.

Or maybe he should end it all.


	3. Chapter 3

There has always been a huge misrepresentation of self-harm in the media. Not that the topic is so much as acknowledged by many movie and TV studios, even in fanfictions there are problems.

In fanfictions, when people relapsed people would immediately find out (or at least would find out eventually), but no one tells you that doesn’t happen in real life.

This is what Peter is thinking about as he walks to the subway station on a cold Wednesday morning. 

The number of times he’s relapsed (more then he cared to admit) completely unbeknownst to anyone proved how good a liar he really was. Hell, he didn’t even get caught until the third month of his second stint. 

In truth, he never threw out his blades. He carried one around with him everywhere. 

‘Just in case’ he always told himself. 

In case what? He needed to hurt? He deserved to feel the pain of all the lives he’s ruined?

Who knows. That’s a question for therapy. 

Anyyyywayyy.

Boy, he got side-tracked easily when he was everything-deprived. 

Oh, god. When did he last eat a full meal?

May had been working evening shifts since Sunday(?). And he didn’t eat dinner on Saturday because he was patrolling.

Soooooo, he had lunch on Saturday? Four days without eating anything?

That was bad for normal people, let alone a teenage boy with an enhanced metabolism.

Whoops?

In truth, he didn’t really care. He could stand to lose a few pounds anyway. 

What was he thinking about? 

Oh yeah.

Cutting. Mmmmm.

Just that word made him physically relax a little bit. Until a few weeks ago, Peter had been clean for almost two years and even hearing that word would set him on edge of the rest of the day. 

But, now that he had picked up his favourite hobby again, it brought a calmness that he hadn’t felt in a long time- happiness.


	4. ...Stop

I am not going to relapse.

I am trying to prove to myself that I am in control.

And I am failing desperately.

Life, Peter’s life, especially was really fucking hard.

His grades were slipping, even though he is trying so hard to keep his head above water. 

For some reason, he felt more comfortable at school than at home, resulting in him napping in quite a few classes and not even bothering to hide his obvious mental health problems.

But teachers don’t care, and aside from the concerned looks from Ned and MJ, the rest of Midtown’s student body couldn’t care less. 

He stares at the small piece of paper in his phone case, so tempted to remove the shiny piece of metal and finally relieve that insatiable need for pain. 

But, no.

He promised.

Who? 

Who did he promise?

Absolutely no-one (just himself), but that doesn’t matter.

Its just...life is so hard you know?

School is just an absolutely fucking nightmare, Spider-Man’s just a fake hero trying to ruin the good reputation of the Avengers and Peter Parker is the crappiest friend, nephew and mentee to ever walk the planet.

And people always say, ‘highschools the easiest part, just wait till you graduate and get a job. You only get 10 days off a year and will have to work until your 70’.

You know?

It would just be so much easier to… stop.


	5. Chapter 5

Sometimes it’s like my skin is made of millions of tiny ants

Moving, swarming, biting, scaring

Leaving tiny reminders that i am real

Sometimes it’s a good thing

They remind that I’m real,

That i am here,

That I’m not just a figment of my own imagination

But sometimes, they serve as an ugly token of remembrance,

That I am human.

That I hurt, I bleed, I scar 

That, no matter how much i try to convince myself, 

I am not invincible.

I am not immortal.

And maybe I don’t want to be.


	6. broken down

Senior year was kicking Peter Parker’s ass.

This was a fact.

He was five days in and he was already absolutely mentally drained.

Over the summer break, he had been relaxed, and dare he say it, happy. He had even not wanted to die for like two weeks straight (a personal record).

But, here he was again. Back at school, already stressed about upcoming assignments and the pressure of getting into a good college.

Fuck, he didn’t even want to think about college.

He wasn’t planning on getting this far, so he is completely unprepared.

Hell, he just turned 17. If someone had told him he would be alive at 17, two years ago he would have laughed in their face.

The weight of everything was killing him.

Slowly, but surely dragging him down further and further until he was drowning.

It had been one month, 23 days, 3 hours and 22 minutes. 

Not that he was counting or anything.

His therapist said it was good to count.

It was helpful because he could see his progress and have a sense of pride in himself.

It was pretty good, he thought. The second-longest in three years.

And god damnit it was still fucking hard sometimes.

No matter how much he understood that it wasn’t healthy, that it wasn’t good for him in the long run, there was no denying it.

He missed the pain.


End file.
